


Drink me

by White_Compass



Series: Irene lives [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Friendship, Love, Multi, Poison, Tea, The Game, damn Moriarty, not dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 12:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Compass/pseuds/White_Compass
Summary: He truly believed what he had told her inside “Leave my side and you’ll be dead within an hour”, but he would not let something happen to Irene, not if he could prevent it.Correction to THAT scene because there was no way in hell Irene would die so easily and Sherlock would not do something knowing she was in danger.





	Drink me

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this fanfic back in 2015, and then forgot to post it anywhere whatsoever. Picked it back up the other day, and after a few correction I think it’s ready.

Everybody kept eluding him today!

First Irene’s 4th “escorting man”, then the Woman herself, and now even the old Doctor Herr Hoffmanstahl. It really wasn’t his day, Sherlock Holmes thought putting both his middle fingers over his closed eyes where they connected to his nose to try and release some of the tension.

He had lost sight of the German doctor for no more than a couple minutes, but it was all that was needed to make another attempt at his life…successfully this time.

The players of this game were more ruthless that his common criminals.

They’ll take care of everything that could interpose between them and their plans. No loose ends. No errors.

He opened his eyes. Irene!

He truly believed what he had told her inside. “Leave my side and you’ll be dead within an hour”, now more than ever.

Yes, she was ingenious, the Woman, but her employer seemed like the kind of man who would have no qualm sacrificing his pawn during the game to reach the final check mate.

Professor Moriarty.

For what he had found out about the man, he knew he wouldn’t take kindly to any hindrance to his plans. Especially if Sherlock Holmes was involved.

Once again in the space of half an hour he found himself following the footsteps of Irene Adler.

She had an advantage on him, but he was sure he knew her well enough to be able to find her again.

From what she said earlier he knew she had other appointments that day, probably all in the same part of town, the first of which with professor Moriarty himself (both her favorite hotel when in town and the Savoy where she choose to have dinner that night where in that area). He would have wanted what he send her for delivered to him immediately. She reported to him in a carriage before, but that did not appear to have been the case today. He wouldn’t have waited in a carriage outside when the package he had her deliver was of such an “eccentric” nature. And she was brave, but not stupid. She must realize her position in his employment was a pretty precarious one at the moment. No, she would have chosen a public place. A controlled environment where she would feel safe, where she would think to have the situation under control, and that would be her first mistake. The professor doesn’t easily allow things to not be under his own control.

“Think, think” Sherlock encouraged himself.

Where would she go, what was nearby. His mind started browsing all past experiences overlapping them over the city maps.

He remembered something: “Oh, what a coincidence meeting you here” she had said with a fake innocent smile when he had found her in the restaurant where he was supposed to meet his informant.

She addressed the waiter as he came close to the table “Another chair for Mr. Holmes, please George”

She was familiar with the place! A public place, but with tables that permitted discreet conversations between its occupants. That was why he had chosen it, too.

Believing his deduction to be correct, he started in the direction of the place.

He didn’t take a direct route, in case that man he had seen outside the auction house or other ones he may not have spotted yet were assigned to follow him, but decided not to waste too much time either. For what he saw with Doctor Hoffmanstahl the professor didn’t like wasting time when he needed to dispose of someone.

Holmes reached the place in question, looked around once more to make sure the coast was clear, and slipped inside from the service entrance.

As he made his way in the servant’s back room he picked up pieces of clothing, at the same time discharging his own.

He exchanged the dirty and ample robe he had worn as a Chinese merchant for a pristine white shirt and short black jacket. He did the same with the bottom part of the ensemble and picked up an abandoned tray as he entered the kitchen’s door. He had noticed that the secret of going undetected was walking in as if he was used to the place, without hesitation or too much looking around. He soon left the tray on a counter next to a long white apron. He secured the apron around his waist and, wetting his hands on a nearby sink, sleeked back his dark hairs, throwing a look around at the waiter just entered to check the final touches of his “costume”. He fished in his waiter short jacket’s pocket for a pair of short white gloves. He exited the kitchen doors and picked up the final touch to represent the impeccable waiter of such an establishment, a black bow tie.

From where he stood he surveyed the room, straightening the bow tie to perfection.

The restaurant was mostly full. Larger tables were disposed by the corners created by discreetly placed velvet curtains, and smaller tables were in the middle. Almost every table was occupied by parties of men and women enjoying their morning tea. A few tables were occupied by business men. Business and tea…it was all very proper and English, disguising the unpleasantness of passing capitals with the bittersweet taste of biscuits and Earl Grey.

The tables were occupied to their capacities…or better, almost every table was but tree.

In the center part of the room two tables were occupied by only a single man each.

Holmes couldn’t be sure since the man was facing away from him, but he thought he recognized the man outside the auction house in one of them…or at least his jacket.

The other man was at a table positioned at the other end of a letter X type of configuration from the first man, and the curtains kept him in total shadows.

He conveniently had an empty table at the side opposed his, divided by the curtain, surely prepared for Irene. But prepared with what?

For what he had seen of the professor he probably would not use firearms, and certainly not in such a busy place…no, poison was much more anonymous, much more subtle.

Luckily for Holmes, poison could also be not so effective if tempered with.

Reprising his role as waiter he went back to the kitchen to arrange a small plate of macaroons adorned with a few cranberries clusters. He slipped in a few little red fruits of his own and a tiny note under them. Then, sleeking back his hair and re-entering the main room, he surveyed it one more time before bowing his head and adding himself to the flow of waiters.

Walking close to the external line of tables he deposited the plate on Irene would be table and then stopped on a table nearby to pretend to take an order, and so doing, keeping an eye on the situation and the plate.

As he gave his back to the entrance he saw in his peripheral vision the Woman enter and reach the table.

A waiter, the same one as that other time he remembered, moved the chair back for her and she sat. She eyed the table carefully, first the little patisserie , then the silver tea boiler.

“A fresh pot of tea, thank you George” she ordered. “Yes, Miss Adler” The waiter nodded and left.

Holmes approved with a little smirk. Public place chosen by her, yet there was no reason to be incautious. She knew very well how easy it was to poison a beverage.

Once again she eyed the patisserie’s plate.

She spotted the note and the little indigenous fruits immediately and recovered both while taking the white napkin and positioning it on her legs. She knew very well she was being observed. She opened the little note on her laps……it contained only two words: “Drink Me!”.

Satisfied, Holmes excused himself from the table he was pretending to be serving and darted near the kitchen to intercept George the waiter. He arrived just in time, freed George from pot and tray and send him back inside on another errand.

He approached Irene’s table from behind. The curtain shielded him from the professor and his henchman both.

She saw him coming and looked at him just an instant, not to give him away. She moved away the cup that was already in front of her to make space for the new one. The filter was already in place, little smashed red fruits like the ones on the patisserie plate were among the darker tea leaves. Sherlock the waiter retrieved the used filter and retreated near the kitchens.

Irene hurried to sip the mysterious tea, trusting Sherlock had to have had a good reason for his actions.

She knew her position was precarious.

She had reason to fear her employer. She had done good work for him, but she realized now his big game was etching closer, and so was his confrontation with the famous detective, and Moriarty would not allow any loose ends to interfere with his plans.

And when it came to Sherlock Holmes, she realized she was a loose end.

She could have easily already been disposed of with the same parcel that was destined to the German doctor that morning.

Now it was a matter of time.

The short conversation with Moriarty surely showed it. The man was all business and power, and he did not wait to make his move and show her who had the upper hand. At a sign from him Coronel Moran gave tree loud bangs with one of his silver spoons on his crystal glass. The whole restaurant froze for as many seconds as there were bangs, then all the people within, businessmen and lazy breakfaster alike, stood up as one, and orderly and silently directed to the exit.

Irene watched them go, defrauded so easily of her safe place.

The rasping noise of the curtain pulled aside by Moriarty behind her added an aura of finality to the moment.

It was never a good sign when a man that enjoyed the privacy of darkness decided to step into the light right in front of you.

She could feel his gaze upon her. Still not looking at him she tried to calm herself, to control her breathing. Her breathing…it was actually becoming a little harder to breath. She so hoped it was because of Holmes and not Moriarty.

Still not looking at him she tried to assess her situation, to discreetly look around her for a weapon she could use, a rout of escape, Sherlock Holmes. She kept her eyes elsewhere, as if refusing to really look at him would keep her safe.

No, she wasn’t safe, and she would look him in the eye. Irene wasn’t one to back down.

His previously softer tone, as the voice of a storyteller, became harsher: “ I no longer require your services” he dismissed her, turning around.

No, you are not simply dismissed by Moriarty.

Having no other alternative, she stood up to exit the restaurant.

The rapid movement made whatever Sherlock had given her act faster, be felt stronger, or at least she hoped it was the effect of Sherlock’s poison and not Moriarty’s.

Oh.

Understanding Sherlock’s plan she made her walking more insecure, stumbling. It wasn’t difficult…whatever she had drunk was making breathing a very arduous exercise.

She bit the inside of her cheek while reaching for her handkerchief and steadied herself by grabbing the back of a chair…she wasn’t much acting now.

She gave a couple coughs on her embroidered handkerchief, staining it with blood. If Moriarty wanted proof of her demise she was ready to give him her best performance.

Letting go of the chair, she moved her weight to the side of the table, bringing it and all it contained down with her as she let herself fall to the floor in grand style.

She really felt like an invisible weight was pushing down on her, so she emphasized the symptoms, taking short rasp breaths in between slight tremble.

She saw the professor bending down on her. A moment of panic before realizing he was only collecting her bloodstained handkerchief from her gloved hand.

Damn Holmes, she felt as if someone was trying to suffocate her, and hoped the professor wouldn’t have the same idea to finish her off.

She relaxed slightly when she saw him get up after he had collected his prize. Staring ahead into nothing, she allowed a last tremble and gave up to unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock watched the scene unfold from behind the counter.

She had managed to follow his improvised plan perfectly.

Now for the odd card.

Moriarty and his henchman have to leave, abandoning her “body” to be disposed of by lesser men. They had abandoned the doctor, too, that morning, and Holmes hoped she wouldn’t be any different.

Holmes continued watching the scene. Moriarty slow movement, calm, relaxed, as if nothing that had happened there today had touched him in the slightest. He said something to his man, went back to his table to collect his papers, and walked toward the exit.

With not even a look back, the other man followed.

The restaurant was silent, empty…not quite.

Holmes waited an heartbeat after the doors closed and the sudden noise from outside died down; his soft steps the only noise in the almost empty hall now.

He rushed to Irene’s side, swiftly trying to undo her overcoat.

‘Arghh!!... Damn buttons, damn fabric!’ he fiddled with the material, his fingers feeling clumsy for once.

He finally had the better of her overcoat, opened it and… ‘Really?’ he thought as he went to work on the silk jacket of her gown.

It really wasn’t that much cold in London! And why would a woman’s jacket need so many buttons.

He triumphantly opened the silk jacket only to reveal a black lace camisole, and underneath it, a corset.

“Ahhhh!” he screamed in frustration.

Couldn’t have she chosen the comfort of men dress today?!

Without patience or time to waste now, he scrambled her camisole up as best he could. He looked around at the fine cutlery fallen with the table and picked up a knife. “I’ll buy you new ones, dear” he said to her unconscious form, cutting the corset ties.

Finally!

Why does she always have to be such hard work.

He retrieved a small leather case from his pockets.

He had successfully poisoned Irene, he stopped to think with a smirk.

Good thing he had his latest experiment handy. Ricinus Communis. The fruit was highly toxic, resulting in trouble breathing, but his experiments also included something to counteract its effects. Adrenal extract.

He opened his case, picked up one of his experimental vials ending with a needle and injected the serum into Irene.

She didn’t move.

“Come on, Irene” he squeezed the vial’s tube till the end “Come on!”

As if listening to him for once, she opened her eyes wide and took a sharp intake of breath, leading to a fit of coughing. She tried to get up, but Holmes hand kept her down.

As the coughing subsided, she looked at Holmes. “Ouch” she slowly complained, more annoyed then hurt.

“Not even a thank you” he smirked at her annoyed expression, while landing her a hand to help her get to a sitting position.

She accepted his hand, but she didn’t stop when she obtained the sitting position, instead she continued to lean toward the detective still kneeling next to her, taking him unaware and kissing him between cheek and mouth.

He looked at her, and this time it was her turn to smirk. “Thank You”.

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Little detail geek that I am, I studied that scene in the beginning at minute 10 and at minute 38 of the movie to the smallest details, so that you can actually follow her eyes and hands movement in the movie and see that what I wrote would fit perfectly with what's already there. So I’m convincing myself that this is what happened and she’s safe and sound.
> 
> Same with the clothing for the final scene…I used the first movie and the promo with missing scenes to dissect all the layers accurately (plus, I studied a bit the Victorian dresses in articles on the internet)…I know, I’m pathological in reserching even details that I decide against writing in.
> 
> This is actually only one of the possible ways Irene could have survived Sherlock 2……This solution followed “ingredients” given directly in Sherlock 2 itself. I have another option, this time following things given in Sherlock 1 and in which Irene saves herself all on her own. Back in the days I forgot to write that second option, so will write this other fanfic shortly since I still totally remember my plans for it. I think I had a third one as well, but what that was supposed to be totally eludes me now, unfortunately.
> 
> Hope you liked this story. Let me know what you think of it, I’d love to receive reviews and kudos with your thoughts. Thanks


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